Today, HJ is pleased to share with you Ava Morgyn’s new release: The Bane Witch: A Novel
Practical Magic meets Gone Girl in Ava Morgyn’s next dark, spellbinding novel about a woman who is more than a witch—she’s a hunter.
Piers Corbin has always had an affinity for poisonous things—plants and men. From the pokeweed berries she consumed at age five that led to the accidental death of a stranger, to the husband whose dark proclivities have become… concerning, poison has been at the heart of her story.
But when she fakes her own death in an attempt to escape her volatile marriage and goes to stay with her estranged great aunt in the mountains, she realizes her predilection is more than a hunger—it’s a birthright. Piers comes from a long line of poison eaters—Bane Witches—women who ingest deadly plants and use their magic to rid the world of evil men.
Piers sets out to earn her place in her family’s gritty but distinguished legacy, all while working at her Aunt Myrtle’s cafe and perpetuating a flirtation with the local, well-meaning sheriff to allay his suspicions on the body count she’s been leaving in her wake. But soon she catches the attention of someone else, a serial killer operating in the area. And that only means one thing—it’s time to feed.
In Ava Morgyn’s dark, thrilling novel, The Bane Witch, a very little poison can do a world of good.
Enjoy an exclusive excerpt from The Bane Witch: A Novel
From The Bane Witch by Ava Morgyn. Copyright © 2025 by the author and reprinted by permission of St. Martin’s Publishing Group.
2
AcaciaThe mouth of the Atlantic is right there, waiting to swallow me whole. I’d swim farther, but I can’t risk it.
I come up near the Charleston Harbor Marina, the bridge still hovering in the growing sunlight behind me. The boats are lined up like prize Thoroughbreds in a stable, bobbing gently on the surface, white and guileless. It’s a dangerous move coming into these narrow, crowded channels. I could be spotted, and I can’t afford any miscalculations. Henry can’t know I climbed out of this river. But I’m still too stunned to think and driven by a survivalist instinct to leave the city while I have time. The clock is ticking, and every second counts. Once my absence is discovered, I won’t be safe in Charleston.
I paddle down a central channel toward the shore. A dockhand in khakis and a faded T-shirt is helping a man pump out the holding tank on his boat despite the early hour. I hear the clipped stream of their conversation and try to make myself smaller in the water, moving closer to the boat bows, ducking between them to pass undetected. I want to sink beneath the surface, but the life vest makes that impossible. Unzipping my raincoat, I make quick work of the vest’s plastic buckles and pull both pieces off. I leave the vest on a nearby cross dock—we’re in a marina after all—but hold on to the raincoat. Henry’s seen it before. The less I leave for him to piece together, the better.
“Thanks again for meeting me,” the older man is saying with an entitled tone, as if he expected it. “I want to get an early start.”
“No kids this time, Tom?” the young man asks.
“The wife took ’em to her sister’s place in Summerton,” the other replies flatly.
I freeze as their voices near, but the water laps softly, pushing me into their field of vision. I dip low, so only my eyes are above the surface. They’re across the dock from me, angled toward the craft, but any sudden movement could garner unwanted attention. I pull my arms carefully to my sides and hold my breath, my gaze steady on them as the wavelets push me by. My heart pounds erratically, tripping over fear.
“Carol’s always saying she wants to come, but then she always makes plans,” the man begins complaining. “If it were up to her, I’d never get out on the water. You have to put your foot down,” he says to the boy, instructive. “Can’t let ’em boss you. Understand?”
The kid nods, disinterest hidden behind the reflective lenses of his polarized sunglasses.
I drift by, disembodied, unattached. A phantom of the harbor. For once, I enjoy being invisible.
Just as I think I am free, the kid yawns and turns his head in my direction. I drop below the surface, praying he doesn’t notice the ripples. Through the murky waves I see him stand. My lungs burn but I don’t dare come up until I’m hidden on the other side of a large deck boat. I push my face toward the sky and take a deep breath.
“I thought I saw a head, a woman. But it went down again,” I can hear the kid explaining.
“Manatee,” Tom says with confidence, clapping the kid on the back so hard I can hear it. “You’re not the first to be fooled, son.”
Grateful, I don’t wait to hear the rest. I slip back under and carefully propel myself forward, coming up only when they are far enough behind for me to not be heard as I move. I swim between pilings to the bank. The light is spreading, but colors blend together, lacking sharpness. I pass through the marsh grass and drag myself onto the scrubby shore undetected. I fall onto my back and breathe, my eyes searching the sky for a portent that might tell me if I’ve pulled this off. But the clouds stretch long and thin, diluting the blue in meaningless smears, giving nothing away. I still have a very long way to go before I’m safe.
Now the pain begins to register. A terrible ache is radiating up the outside of my bare, right foot. The first thing I did as the shock of my plunge gave way, and I began to rise toward the surface, was kick my shoes off into the water. I sit up to examine my foot, and a sharp pain pierces my left side. I bite back a cry. I’ve cracked a rib. Maybe two.
Carefully, I study the rest of my body. My jaw aches where my teeth ground together, and my chin is rubbed raw from the impact forcing the life vest up. My nose still stings from the water that rushed into it. Water I coughed out as I first cleared the surface, the taste of mud scrubbing the pokeweed from my mouth. But I am whole, if broken in a few places. The rib will heal. The foot worries me more. It is already swelling. There’s no apparent bruising yet, but it will come. I press gently along the side and wince as I near the fracture. I’m lucky this is the worst of it, lucky the force of the impact didn’t blow my hips out of their sockets. But a broken foot is not a triumph. I have a long way to walk.
I press myself up on my hands, gathering my good foot below me. Wrapping my arms around my middle protectively, I turn and start toward the beach club, keeping low so as not to be noticed. The pool will soon be full of shrieking kids and women working on their tans. I crouch so the boardwalk will shield me from view of early risers. Every other step is agonizing, and yet I delight in the pain. It is the first thing that’s truly mine in two years’ time. And I’ve had worse.From The Bane Witch by Ava Morgyn. Copyright © 2025 by the author and reprinted by permission of St. Martin’s Publishing Group.
Excerpt. ©Ava Morgyn. Posted by arrangement with the publisher. All rights reserved.
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Meet the Author:
AVA MORGYN grew up falling in love with all the wrong characters in all the wrong stories, then studied English Writing & Rhetoric at St. Edward’s University. She is a lover of witchcraft, tarot, and powerful women with bad reputations, and she currently resides in Houston with her family, surrounded by antiques and dog hair. When not at her laptop spinning darkly hypnotic tales, she writes for her blog on child loss, hunts for vintage treasures, and reads the darkest books she can find. She is the author of YA novels Resurrection Girls and The Salt in Our Blood.
Diana Hardt
I liked the excerpt. It sounds like a really interesting book.
debby236
After reading the excerpt, I know I would enjoy this book.